Disclaimer: I do not own any of the character names, save my own original creations. I do not wish to be compensated for this work, nor do I wish to infringe on any copyrights held by any stakeholders of the movie King Arthur. This work is an original creation, based on the legend of King Arthur and his knights.


Scribe Notes:

To all: The reviews I have received for this story have truly kept me motivated. The reviews I received for chapters 13 to 15 have given me the most wonderfully full and happy feeling! This website has lived up to what I hoped it would be, which is a group of like-minded people sharing ideas, opinions, and great stories about something we find irresistable. Thank you. I have posted lengthy responses here, as you have given me so much to work with in your own time spent writing your reviews.

Winged Seraph: Many thanks again. I am glad that I have been able to keep the characters to their traits from the movie for you. It's not easy, since we all see them in a slightly different way. Your continued support really touches me.

Babaksmiles: Humanity in killers is something we sometimes overlook, and it got me thinking about how these men, after so much blood spilled, could be fathers, brothers, lovers. It was a different time. I hope that these next two chapters will help Cerys get back to what is important, and realize just how crazy she really was for working so hard.

History2: You have hit the nail on the head with Lancelot. he will need to realize that he is not just a fighting machine, that there are other aspects to life. He needs to realize that loving someone is ok, and that he is worthy of it, he is a good man. Cerys will help him with that, just as he, in another way (I haven't figured that out yet) will help her to open her heart to feel, and bring more into her life than work. Cerys will need many people to help her do that, and these two chapters will start this process, I hope.

Burnt Alice: Your words are so kind! I am thrilled that you are enjoying the story. My Cerys has been a bit of a challenge to write, being not an amazon-type warrior, or a high-born priestess etc. She is flawed, but so are we all and I have tried to give her traits that I would see in a woman today, holding down a job, with pressures of family and friends all around her. That being said, she has pressures we would never see, that being the welfare of all the people at that fort. She is the original multi-tasker. Too bad they did not have Daytimers back then. She would be a power-user! grin Thank you for your review.

Ailis-70:

When your review came into my inbox this evening, I was floored, so this section will hopefully give you some feedback to your comments. Your words are wonderful!
I have eluded a bit to Gawain's troubles when he plaited a green scale from armour into Demetia's mane. I hope to weave this back in at some point.This idea stems from one renditon of the legend where Gawain fights a Green Knight. I am still researching this idea.
I have given Guinevere a different feel in this story. I felt that her character, although wonderfully strong and beautiful in the movie, was a tad over the top for the feel I wanted here. I have given her more Roman-like qualities, but retained her pictish heritage. She is high-born in native society, and as suchis now the Queen,but neither does she need to fight and run about in next to nothing in my story. She is strong in her own way, but also in love with her Arthur, giving her softness. I hope that the next two chapters can bring a bit more light to her for you. Perhaps the idea is not that you should like her, but understand what she has to deal with, and respect her ability to ford ahead.
Tristan reading is perfect, I agree with you. I wonder how much of a philosopher he would become in his later years. I have tried to give him the mediator role a bit between Lancelot and Cerys, as he is close to Cerys as brother, close to Lancelot from years of riding to battle together. He doesn't need to meddle, but he is concerned. I am looking forward to writing his scenes in battle, his fluid movements will be so exciting, bringing in the grace he has with his blade.
I think Lancelot and Cerys do compliment each other in a way. Each have their own misgivings, but they mesh together well. Otherwise their dancing would not be so well done, steps intuitive to the other. However, confusion is the name of the game with love that you are balking against. I enjoy giving his character a bit of fallibility. grin He does deserve her, he deserves to be happy. She deserves him, she deserves to be loved.
My names are derived from Welsh. As Arthur is a legend from Wales predominantly, so I have tried to phonetically bring words in. Hywel (pronounced "Hooil") means goodbye. I came across that recently, and now get a kick out of every time I read Bernard Cornwell's name for Derfel's sword "Hywelbane". Such a good name for a sword that sends Saxons to their maker!
Cerys (pronounced "Care-us") is a name I found on a Welsh names database. I am not sure what it means. the first name I had for her, Cariad (promounced "car-ee-ad"), means darling. A bit too much, so I changed it to be more sublte. Now I love that name. "Care-us" describes the way she is perfectly. Caring for others before herself.
Dafydd (pronounced "Daf-ud") is a traditional Welsh name, usually using two f's "Daffydd". Terryn, Klyndd, Nimli, Brinn, are my own creations playing with the Welsh alphabet. Apollo and Demetia are gods from Myth I believe (not sure where, but I rode horses with those names so I had to bring them in). Meritus sounded Roman and stuffy, perfect for a big white warmblood horse for the King. Grin Sky is named simply because Tristan wishes he could fly, and on his Sky, he can.
I changed Vanora's name to Lorina, as I really didn't like the way it played off tongue when I read my story out loud. Lorina, is of course, a Roman name, and I think it melds better.

Ok, enough babbling on. Everyone has given me such inspiration! Here are the next two chapters.


Chapter 16: A Feeling Invalid

Dafydd pushed open the door to Cerys' room and peeked in. Cerys was sitting in a chair, her back to the door, looking out her window to the edge of the common, and the alley. Her hair was a tangle behind her head, and he noticed she had not changed her dress for a few days. Her chamber pot was full, and the fire was a smudge of ashes and soft coals.

Lorina had mentioned to Dafydd that she was not letting either her or Guinevere, or any of the women, for that matter, into her rooms to help her. They were worried she was giving up, her over-worked temper pushed too far. They were at a loss as to why she had pushed so hard to make herself sick, and been so distant since.

Her right hand was still able to hold things, her left completely bandaged. Her spirit, that was another matter. Dafydd grimaced silently and closed the door behind him.

"What do you want?" She said, not even looking backwards, her voice thin.

"Cerys, I came to check on your dressings. Have I come at a bad time?"

Cerys sighed. Dafydd was so good to her, and here she was snapping again. She truly wanted to be left alone! She felt miserable and useless, with her hands bandaged, resting in her lap like hunks of dead meat.

It had been three days since Guinevere had dragged her to Dafydd's offices, three days since she had fallen to the floor. Three days where she could not supervise the harvest. She was told by Guinevere that Hywel, Nimli, Lorina and herself were doing just fine getting crops in, and the rain had slackened enough that they were able to get the all the millet in without problems, and the hall rafters groaned with the weight of wet bundles, quickly drying.

No help from her, she reflected bitterly. No help at all. All she could do was sit here and be tor­tured by her own thoughts, a useless lump of flesh.

"No Dafydd, I'm sorry, please come in." She said softly, her head bowing to look down at her feet.

Dafydd entered and crouched down beside her. He could see streaks on her cheeks from her tears, her eyes empty and sad.

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

Cerys held up her right hand limply as he pulled off the soft linen over the gauze around her palms. She winced as he carefully pulled bits away from crusted blood and tisked. From his bag he produced more salve and re-applied it. He switched to her left hand and she gasped as he pushed his fingers at a new swollen blister.

"I have to open that and let it drain, then we need to leave the bandages off to let it cure." He said, pulling out a needle. He wiped it clean with some of the salve, and she watched him prick it. Goo spewed out onto the bandage still cradling the back of her hand, and she turned away, swallowing hard. The smell was horrible.

"Dafydd, what have I done to myself?"

Dafydd put a hand to her shoulder, the other still holding her hand on the bandage. His face showed his concern for her. She was not healthy, and his fear was that she had burnt her spirit to a crisp trying to get the crops in. There was, though, something else.

"Your hands will heal child, but I am worried about your heart."

Cerys looked up to him and her eyes brimmed with new tears. "What of it?"

He smiled softly and patted her shoulder before rising to fetch new bandages from the sack of supplies he had carried with him. He took breath and spoke his mind.

"You work so hard, yet you give yourself no time for leisure. The only time I see you enjoying yourself is when Arthur and the knights are home. Your life is not just this fort Cerys. Your duty is not just to Arthur and the people who rely on you, but also to yourself."

He could hear her soft sobs begin as he returned to her side. He knew she felt so helpless, and he wondered at what had turned this confident woman into such a shell. She had been this way for some time now. An outer facade of poise, showing the world she was as tough as a knight in armour. Brief glimpses of happiness, periods of seeming normalcy. But, on the inside, he thought she was hiding emptiness, loneliness. She ran the fort like a general, but cared little to properly see to her own needs most of the time, the harvest, her crew and her hands the latest evidence.

He lifted her chin to look at her and he saw anguish radiate out from her eyes. It broke his heart to see her this way.

"Please, tell me what bothers you so that makes you work your hands to the bone and your body to exhaustion."

She shook her chin away from his grasp and returned her gaze to her feet, blanking her eyes, her tears drying as quickly as they had started.

"I wish not to talk about it."

Dafydd nodded. She was not ready, or perhaps he was not the right person for her to share with. He won­dered to himself if she was finally breaking, after all these years under her self-ordered solitude, and if her heart would open back up to let some man love her. It was a mystery that only time and her trust could solve. He thought, if only briefly, how if he was young enough, that he would care for her, love her. She reminded him too much of his own wife, now dead these past two years. He smiled briefly at the memory of her, and how Cerys helped him remember his love, through her. Ahh, he was getting old and foolish in his thoughts, he chastised himself.

He finished his ministrations on her right hand. "I will be back in two hours time to re-bandage your other hand. Will you keep it still until then?"

She nodded and he left silently, giving her the space he felt she was wanting.

After some moments of silence after his leaving, Cerys sighed and looked down to her swollen left hand, now resting on her thigh. Damn but it hurt! She wished to cut it off. She felt her temper rising, but with no way to placate it, she gritted her teeth and forced it back down. By now she would have thrown something. Small mercy that, she could not afford to break yet another clay basin.

Right then, she was desperate for her cousin's company, and her chest constricted with the thought. He would tell her what to do, and help her cheer up. He would tell her stories of their battles, stories of their mothers... stories about his father, and her father, before they died togeth­er on the battlefield for Rome.

She missed the men so much! How could she explain to Dafydd that her whole world revolved around those seven men, and the purpose they brought to her life? She loved each of them so much. The only thing that kept her going when they were away was her work, and she needed it, she worried so much about them coming home safely.

She thought of how wonderful it would be to hug Arthur, to sit quietly with Tristan and share some cheese. How much she missed teasing Bors and fending off Gawain and Galahad when they were boisterous. She thought of Perceval and his overblown oratories on her hair, eyes, or bottom. Despite her sour mood it brought a light smile to her face, thinking of each of them in turn.

She felt herself tearing up again as her thoughts turned to Lancelot. How she missed him most, she was not sure, but he was in her thoughts constantly since they had left. Her mind played im­ages of him dancing, laughing, sitting quietly and smiling to her. No matter when she thought of him, her abdomen would warm and she would briefly think to his kiss from the baths, his arms around her. Stupidity to think of a man, friend for so long, this way.

He had women aplenty, showing the rest of the fort that he wished not for anything more than the variety his trysts afforded him. No matter how hard she worked, no matter how she denied herself sleep, he would poke at her mind, dance through her dreams, his deep baritone laughter and mischievous eyes daring her.

She would not allow herself to fall in love with him. It wasn't right, his actions of late nothing but male instincts, she had already concluded that. But... she knew these feelings were more than just simple longing for a friend's touch. Damn him and his stabbing eyes! Damn him for making her feel so confused! Why must he be the one to rekindle these feeling in her after all these years? Why?

The tears now fell hard and fast, her sobs becoming louder, her shoulders shaking as she tried to maintain control. She did not hear the door opening, Lorina and Guinevere together tip-toe in.

"Cerys!" Guinevere breathed and ran to her, her arms enfolding her shoulders, her forehead touching her friend's ear. "Please love, please don't cry. We are here."

Lorina came around front of Cerys and looked painfully concerned. She reached up with the hem of her dress and blotted at the tears, now falling wetly across cheeks.

Both women were at a loss for what to do, and fretted over her, patting her, stroking her hair. Cerys blinked as her sobs softened once more. Her friends were here, she must regain her con­trol! What must they think of this?

"I'm sorry." She mumbled.

Lorina shook her head. "You must tell us what is wrong so that we can help. By the Gods, Cerys, you cannot work so hard and hurt yourself again. You will give us both measures to tie you to your bed."

Cerys looked from Guinevere to Lorina. These women were friends. They would understand wouldn't they? They were like family too weren't they? She blinked a few more times and sniffed. She couldn't rub at her eyes, and it was quite uncomfortable, having the puffiness from tears sitting un-itched.

"I want to be useful. This sitting is driving me to madness. I..." She sniffed once more.

Guinevere nodded and flicked a glance to Lorina. Lorina unfolded the sheepskin maps from her pocket and held them up for Cerys to see. This was why they had come in the first place, to give her news of the harvest, to hopefully cheer her.

"This field is the last one to come in." Lorina pointed on the map, "Then, we are done. Your efforts helped us to get everything in!"

"Cerys, never think that you are not useful." Guinevere said softly.

Cerys longed to pick the maps out of Lorina's hands, and she raised her left hand up instinctive­ly, wincing, then setting it back down again. Swollen fingers protested, more fluid oozed out of the new blister. She bleated in pain again and sagged.

"See? Your worrying is over! Now all we need to do is finish the preserving." Guinevere added brightly, trying anything to get her friend to cheer up. She looked quickly to the table over by the window, rose and fetched Cerys' bone comb. She moved back to Cerys and began combing the knots out of her hair.

"But what about the pigs? How many cattle will we need to kill before winter solstice? What about..." Cerys stopped again, a look of worry crossing her face.

"Never mind about that, the women in the kitchens tell us we are more than prepared."

Cerys abruptly turned her head to look to both women. She licked her lips and gathered her courage to ask them something that she had wanted to ask them for so long. Perhaps they would understand. She was tired of hiding her emotions and feelings in her duties. She needed to talk to someone about this or she would burst at the seams.

"How do you deal with having your men gone for so long, always wondering at their return? You both seem to... accept their absence so well." She blurted, her face reddening.

There, she had asked. Now they would know her weakness. She wanted to cover her face, to disappear. What would they think of her, being so weak when she was supposed to be strong?

Cerys watched Lorina look above her head to Guinevere, and then back to Cerys' face.

"Oh Cerys. Is this what bothers you when the men leave? You turn into this working machine the minute they gallop out the gates... Why have you never mentioned this until now?" Lorina's hand came up to cradle Cerys' cheek, her eyes softening, the maps thrown to the floor. Cerys felt the mother in Lorina come out, and it was comfort to her.

Cerys shrugged. "They are my family; they have all been my friends for so many years. It has always been hard, even when they were young. I just... I marvel at how you deal with it, is all. I seem unable. I see you are sad, but... you regain yourselves and continue on so well."

The comb stopped its movement at the back of her head and she felt Guinevere's arms wrap around her once more. Guinevere's warmth flowed through to Cerys's shoulders and she was glad for the contact at that moment, her vulnerability evident.

"We let ourselves cry, we get mad, we distract ourselves, I throw Arthur's books at the wall... I sulk for days on end, which you have noticed, and you always give me extra chores to do... But... Cerys, we let ourselves feel." A muffled voice echoed in her ear.

"My children help me to stay focused, knowing that I have Bors around me no matter what." Lorina said, a smile now showing, her hand not moving from Cerys' cheek.

"You should let these feelings out, tell us about them! Bottling them up and throwing them at your duties only makes you sick, as I think you have realized." Guinevere said, releasing her hold on her friend and coming around front of the chair again. Cerys nodded slowly.

"You cannot get up early, retire late and make us worry so anymore, we won't let you." Lorina stated, rising up and turning to poke at the hearth. The sun was going down slowly and the room was chilling in the afternoon air.

Cerys felt a moment of panic come to her. They would tell Arthur! He would think her unfit to run the fort. She attempted to get out of her chair, her thoughts driving her to move. Guinevere pushed her gently back into her seat, her lips pursed.

"No you don't." She admonished. "Not until Dafydd has re-applied that bandage to your hand."

"Please, you can't tell Arthur... He will... he won't let me keep on with my work... I..." She fum­bled for words, her eyes pleading to her cousin's wife.

Guinevere shook her head. "He is as worried about you as we are. Before he left he was aware you were working much too hard. Has he not spoken to you of this?"

Cerys hung her head. Damn. That's why Lancelot was so worried in the baths that day, he and Arthur must have spoken about it.

"He won't set you out! You are his cousin and he loves you dearly!" Lorina said as she set new firewood to blaze, and wiped her hands together.

"We aren't going to let you do this to yourself again, do you hear?" Guinevere repeated Lorina's words, shaking a finger at her friend.

Cerys looked to the two women, and for the first time saw a new bond forming with them. She had always kept a bit of distance from them, feeling she could not relate to them, both being married, Lorina with as many children as she had. She was single, with no man or household, what common ground would they have?

She began to feel a bit more at ease again, and a smile crept to her face, a genuine smile. Maybe they did have common ground. Each of them loved the knights, each of them were as invested in this family as she was. For some strange reason, her mind played an image of Lancelot, and she pushed it away.

Perhaps she should stop worrying so much about the men when they were gone, they were ca­pable knights, adept warriors. It would be nice to talk about her feelings with these women, now that she knew that they understood her.

She had never really had close women friends before... and she liked the idea. Of course she was always friendly with Lorina and Guinevere, but... never on a level such as this. It had always seemed intimidating to her.

"Thank you for this... you... you are my friends. I am sorry I have not seen to your confidence before now."

Both women gave her another hug, and reassured her that she was indeed just fine. Lorina re­turned to building the fire, Guinevere to combing out Cerys' hair. They chatted then on less heavy subjects, and Cerys relaxed.

That was how Dafydd found them some time later, giggling and talking, all three with smiles on their faces. They turned in unison to greet him as he walked in the door, and he knew that this was the true medicine that Cerys needed to heal completely.

"Ladies." He said happily as he entered the room.


Dear Reader:

I will keep my notes short. Please read above the start of the chapter for my responses to reviews, which have fueled my brain so much I may not sleep tonight.

Cardeia